


Snippet, "Appeal to Reason"

by belmanoir



Series: 20th Century AUs [2]
Category: due South
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Multi, Pre-Slash, Rosh Hashanah 2009
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-03
Updated: 2012-04-03
Packaged: 2017-11-02 23:59:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/374798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/belmanoir/pseuds/belmanoir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One scene from this story: "Vecchio is an anarchist union organizer with a rule: 'Never get involved with a worker on one of your campaigns.' Then he meets Kowalski, a wage slave in the Chicago meatpacking plant he hopes to organize. Fraser is a muckraker (although he prefers the term 'investigative journalist') who hopes that his book about the horrible conditions in the industry will touch America's hearts. But as the workers in Kowalski's plant go on strike and the Pinkertons descend, it's the hearts of the three men that are in the worst danger..."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snippet, "Appeal to Reason"

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Luzula](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luzula/gifts).



> She requested something set in the 1900s AU from my [the 20th century in OT3 AUs](http://belmanoir.livejournal.com/90232.html) post.

"You got a _house?"_ Ray asked, stunned.

Vecchio's eyes darkened. "My dad owned a sweatshop." He pushed the door open and called, "Hey Ma, add some more water to the soup, I brought guests!"

There was some rattling and thumps from a back room, and a small, round woman appeared in the doorway. Behind her was one of the prettiest girls Ray had ever seen, a kerchief in her dark hair. Her eyes slid right over Ray and fastened on Fraser. She smiled, lighting up her face, and came around her mother. "I'm Francesca," she said, holding out her hand.

Fraser shook it, looking taken aback. "Benton Fraser."

"And how do you know my brother?"

Vecchio rolled his eyes. "Benny's a journalist. He's writing about the plant. And this is Ray Kowalski, one of the workers there."

"A journalist!" Francesca said, awestruck. "You mean he can read?"

Mrs. Vecchio frowned. "His name is Ray too?"

Vecchio shrugged. "Well, that's what they called him at immigration, anyway." His Italian accent was even more pronounced here among his family.

Mrs. Vecchio smiled at Ray. "What does your mother call you?"

Ray hated how everyone asked that. He was an American now. What was wrong with using an American name? "Stanisław," he mumbled.

"And where are you from, Benny?" she asked Fraser.

"He's from Canada," Vecchio said. "Would either of you guys like some wine?"

"Yeah, that'd be great," Ray said, trying to catch Francesca's eye.

"Thanks, I don't drink," Fraser said.

Mrs. Vecchio's eyebrows shot up, but she persisted in her original line of questioning. "And where were you from before Canada?"

"He's just from Canada, Ma," Vecchio told her. "His parents too."

"And your grandparents?"

Fraser blinked. "Toronto, I think. It's also in Canada. They spent most of their time in the Yukon, though. They started schools for the Inuit." At everyone's blank look, he said reluctantly, "Eskimos."

"Oh, missionaries," Mrs. Vecchio said. "And what did your father do?"

A shadow passed over Fraser's face. "He was a Mountie. I thought about becoming one too, but--"

"A policeman on a horse," Vecchio explained, with a warning look at his mother.

But it was too late. Mrs. Vecchio's face filled with horror, and even Francesca grimaced. "A policeman! It's much better to be a journalist. A nice boy like you being a policeman!" She tsked and shook her head. "My husband, he paid--how do you say--" She said something in Italian.

"Protection money," Vecchio translated. "Look, Ma, let's just forget about it, okay?"

She nodded vigorously. "He paid the mafia and the cops the same to keep quiet about his shop," she said. "The Irish Mafia, that's all the cops are. Show them what the cops did to you, Mondo!"

Vecchio rolled his eyes. "Ma, stop it. What's for dinner?"

"No, I'd like to see," Fraser said quietly. His eyes met Vecchio's, and something passed between them.

Vecchio shrugged and unbuttoned the top few buttons on his shirt. A gold-colored cross appeared in the V. Ray swallowed, staring and trying not to stare and trying not to want him to keep going and undo all the buttons. Then Vecchio pulled his shirt, undershirt, and one strap of his suspenders to the side, and Ray forgot all about his impure thoughts. There, cutting a white, hairless swath across Vecchio's olive chest, was a large, crescent-shaped scar.

Ray couldn't think what would cause a scar like that, but it looked like Fraser could. He went white.

Vecchio's reluctance had disappeared--he seemed pleased at the sensation he was causing. "It's a beauty, isn't it?" he said proudly. "Broke my collarbone, too."

"Thank God your cousin is a doctor," Mrs. Vecchio said, crossing herself.

"God has nothing to do with why Frankie is a doctor," Vecchio snapped.

"They rode you down," Fraser said, so quietly everyone stopped and listened.

"Yep," Vecchio confirmed. "I was holding a sign and one of the cops rode right at me--" He kept going, but Ray was so angry he'd forgotten how to understand English. He kept seeing, over and over, Vecchio going down under slashing hooves, an iron-shoed foot inches from his head.

Vecchio broke off and looked at him. He said something.

Ray shook his head to clear it. "Huh?"

Vecchio raised his eyebrows. "You okay?"

"Fucking _Cossacks,"_ Ray spat out. "I didn't come to America just to be the dirt under someone else's feet. They think they can ride right over us but we're gonna show them!"

Vecchio grinned at him. "Yeah, we are. But if you ever curse in front of my ma and sister again, you won't be alive to see it, got that?"


End file.
